


the quarterback punk's many, many scrapes and bruises

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: Point Break (1991)
Genre: A Series of Discrete One-Shots, Aftermath of Torture, Also I like Angelo, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angelo Worries, Angst, Chase Scene Aftermath, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father Figure, Friendship, Gen, Hurt!Johnny, Hurt/Comfort, I love Johnny so I must hurt him, Johnny Whump, Johnny's gay but not for Angelo, Knee Injuries, May be a bit OOC, Near Drowning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical hurt/comfort, There's not enough for this fandom, Torture, Undercover, Varied Word Count, Whump, don't neglect him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14228883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: Johnny Utah and Angelo Pappas are FBI agents - they must be ready for injuries in the field.  They deal with the consequences of Johnny being a trouble magnet as a team.  All in all, it's bad for Angelo's health to be so worried all the time.  But they wouldn't have it any other way.A collection of H/C stories picked from a home-made list of H/C prompts.





	1. Near Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> hello i am desperate for fanfiction for this movie so i will make it myself.
> 
> this is mostly set in a universe in which Bohdi doesn't totally fuck up Johnny's life, because Utah and Pappas deserved better. it will vary.

“Fuck!  _Fuck!_ ”  The word had taken over Johnny’s vocabulary, but to be honest, it was justified.  “Fuck!  Unbuckle me—“

 

His words were cut off.  His thought as the fender breached the lake was, _This is why we_ don’t _wear seatbelts._   The impact of the car hitting the water slammed his face to the wheel and the airbags went off.  In the passenger seat, Angelo was cursing up a blue streak. 

 

In between the vulgar language were insults to Johnny’s abilities.  “Do you even know how to drive?  Huh?  Do you know what a steering wheel is?” 

 

“I just broke my face on one of ‘em, dumbass, now help me get this off and open the goddamn door!”

 

Adrenaline pumped through Johnny’s body, almost overtaking the panic.  But there had been too many articles in the news of entire families that drowned together, trapped in their cars.  He didn’t want it to end that way, especially not if Angelo had a chance. 

 

“Damn it!  Why don’t they give us huge ass knives for these situations?”  Angelo said.  The water was gushing in from the windows, and any minute now they would both be trapped.

 

“Get out, go get help, you’re not gonna get this off of me, but if you call 911 they can—“

 

“—I’m not leaving you—“

 

“—Saw me outta here, alright?  That's my best bet!  Go!”

 

Angelo’s resolve was breaking, but only because Johnny was putting as much fake confidence into his words as possible.  The water was filling the car, but if Angelo didn’t open the door soon, they’d both die.  It was only half way up their shins, but the spray as it tumbled into the vehicle with abandon was soaking Johnny’s hair.

 

“Don’t you fuckin’ die, or I swear I’ll kill you,”  Pappas said, one hand pushing against the passenger door.  “I really will!”  He didn’t need to shut it as he swam out to the shore; the pressure of the entire lake pushed it back into place.  It was actually impressive how he managed to squeeze himself past the tiny space that the lake allowed.

 

Johnny leaned back, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.  The wheel had broken some skin on his forehead and diluted blood was running down all over his face.  He blinked the freezing cold water out of his eyes and started on his buckle again.  Despite the fact that he knew it wasn’t going to work, Johnny wasn’t going to die twiddling his thumbs.  If he didn’t at least try, he would be giving in.

 

The lake had filled up the car enough to reach his stomach.  He hissed at the cold inching up his belly and desperately wished that the car had heated seats, and they could still work when underwater.  It was a ridiculous wish, but at his point, Johnny didn’t doubt that he had a concussion.

 

Then he heard the faint sound of sirens.  Angelo had pulled through.

 

Unfortunately, that was also the moment that the top of the car disappeared under the water.  The windshield cracked all at once and then bent under the weight of the lake.  Johnny took the deepest breath of his goddamn life just as the windshield shattered completely, letting in a rush of freezing water.

 

This was also the moment that Johnny decided that wearing a seatbelt could very well be more dangerous than not.  The water reached his neck in 2 seconds flat, and he was submerged immediately after. 

 

There was a silver lining – Angelo was alive and well, maybe a little bruised and wet, and the lake water wasn’t salty, so Johnny could open his eyes underwater.  And lo and behold, there was a fucking fish swimming in front of his nose.  The presence of life in the water made him feel bad; what was Angelo’s car going to do to the lake?  Would the fish die?  Perhaps Johnny’s death would be followed directly by the death of the fish.  He hoped the gasoline wasn’t going to leak out, but more than that, he hoped someone would come get him soon.  Maybe his mother and father wouldn’t have to identify his blue-skinned body.  But then again, his lungs hurt so much at this point that there was no trying to hold it in.

 

Johnny’s eyes closed involuntarily as a bubble of carbon dioxide escaped him.  Water rushed into his mouth and down this throat, and through his nose.  Too bad, he had wanted to get a nice view of the lake as he died.  The world darkened so quickly it reminded Johnny’s dying mind of his parents tucking him in and turning off the lights.  Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad if it was like falling asleep.

 

Nope.  As Johnny’s body went limp and he passed out, the last and most easily registered sensation was his chest feeling like it was being crushed.

 

* * *

 

 Angelo watched with his breath in his throat as a firefighter dove into the water.  It was almost as though he wouldn’t let himself exhale until he knew Johnny could.

 

The kid was young, too young to be in danger so often.  But he was an FBI agent – and the badge meant that Johnny Utah being 25 years old didn’t matter jack shit.  He was aware of the danger, everyone was, but Angelo wished with his whole being that he didn’t have to watch the firefighter drag a pale and lifeless Johnny out of the lake.

 

“Shit.  Shit.”  It was all Angelo could say.  Johnny’s lips were blue and his eyes were closed.  He didn’t move as the man that rescued him tilted his chin to the side, draining the water in his mouth.  Johnny didn’t even twitch as the man tilted it to its original position and then backward, or when the man pinched his nose and started mouth-to-mouth.  After four strong breaths in, the firefighter put his ear to the kid’s mouth and listened for any sign of breathing.  “C’mon Johnny…”

 

The younger man was still.  The firefighter started another round.

 

It took another 30 seconds, an entire half-minute of heart-stopping disbelief, for Johnny to retch.  Water flowed from his mouth – more than Angelo thought was possible to have in his body.  It was then that Angelo decided that the universe had it out against his partner and that he would do everything in his power to make sure it never won.

 

* * *

 

 Johnny wasn’t cold.  In fact, he was quite warm and his only affliction was his aching head.  He moved a hand up to touch his head and see if his head has a bump, but his fingers brushed over a tender part of his forehead and he hissed.  Johnny’s hand dropped back onto the mattress underneath him and he realized then that there was something clipped onto his index finger.  Looped around his head was an elastic band, which held an oxygen mask to his face.  Tentatively, Johnny peeled his eyes open.  The soft light of dawn greeted him, filtering in through the open curtains. 

 

The door creaked open.  Angelo stepped through with a coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.  The moment his eyes landed on Johnny, the door slammed into the wall.  Angelo’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and the sight of him could’ve made Johnny laugh if he wasn’t so dazed.

 

“You’re awake!  Holy hell, you’re awake.  Oh, my- nurse!  He’s awake!”  Angelo turned this way and that, leaving his coffee on a table with practiced ease.  His shouting made Johnny cringe – it was obviously very early and now the entire hospital was awake and knew that Johnny Utah was awake, too.

 

“Angelo, please, the man in a coma on the tenth floor knows I’m awake,” he said, smiling.  His words were muffled by the mask covering most of his face.

 

A nurse entered the room and fiddled with the IV drip.  She apparently decided that he was okay to have a cannula instead of an entire oxygen mask, something Johnny was incredibly thankful for.  He could actually speak now, and maybe the doctor would let him eat something.  He felt starved.

 

As soon as the nurse left, the older agent dropped into the chair that had been dragged as close as it could to the bed.  “Johnny.”  He started.  It was apparent that what he had to say was serious.  “You scared the shit out of me.  You really scared me this time.”

 

“I’m not dead—“

 

“—But you nearly were!  When they pulled you out, you were fuckin’ blue.  Blue and not breathing.”  Angelo sucked in a steadying breath.  “Don’t do that again, you hear?”

 

Johnny was stunned by the sheer amount of worry in his partner’s voice.  Usually, they joked around, but he was deadly serious now.  There was a grey tinge to Angelo’s face, and Johnny realized that the man had a five o’clock shadow on his face.  His near-drowning had done a number on both of them.

 

“Okay,” Johnny said, “I’ll be more careful next time.”  Angelo nodded, letting a smile creep onto his face.

 

“Good.”

 

“I won’t wear my seatbelt anymore.”

 

“You fuckin—“


	2. GSW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny is not so infatuated with Tyler, but he won't let her die. However, he refuses to lose both his girlfriend and his job and instead pays for it by being shot. Twice. In the chest. It's not a very fun day.

Johnny shook his head as Bohdi held the shotgun out to him.  “No.  I’m not going in there armed."

 

“Yes you fuckin’ are,” Roach spit.  There was a maniacal glint in his eyes, like when he was talking about dying before he was 30.  This time it was accompanied by a frenzy – one that was probably brought on by the huge gun in his hands.

 

Bodhi stared him down, silent.  “Fine,” he said, “No gun.  But, no gun means no vest.”

 

Roach took that as a signal to wrestle the bulletproof vest from Johnny’s body.

 

* * *

 

The cop turned to Johnny, and the blood drained from his face in the millisecond before he threw his hands up.  “I’m an FBI agent—“

 

And then suddenly he was falling backward, completely devoid of strength.  His knee buckled under him and slammed into the floor.  He was so shocked by the impact, Johnny couldn’t even scream.  The back of his head hit the floor, but not hard enough to knock him out.

 

He really wished it had.  In mere seconds the pain flooded in, a burning, twisting, pain like he had never known.  It completely dwarfed the pain he felt when he first got his knee screwed up.  But just one word couldn’t truly describe the sensation in his chest.  Even ‘agony’ couldn’t completely cover what he was feeling.

 

Johnny’s mind defaulted to field observations - something that had been drilled into him enough to fall back on even now.  Blood was pumping out of his body at a rate that probably meant the bullets hadn’t gone all the way through.  The force of the bullets definitely broke some bones, but he was too dazed and much too close to passing out to be able to catalog which bones.  His knee had taken damage yet again.

 

Dimly, Johnny wondered if the repeated injury to his knee would affect his work.  How could he run if his knee was so fucked?  His thoughts were slipping past him, like sand past his fingers, and Johnny knew that he was going to pass out soon.

 

His body felt as if it were simultaneously encased in ice and on fire.  He could feel his blood pooling around him, hot and sticky, leaving his body feeling freezing in its absence.  Staring up at the ceiling, he could hear two things.  The more prominent being the screams of those around him, someone yelling about calling an ambulance.  Somewhere far away, he heard sirens.

 

* * *

 

 “—He was taken fucking hostage you absolute piece of rat shit!  Take the cuffs _off!_ ”

 

_Ah,_ Johnny thought _, that must be Angelo._   As he peeled his eyes open, his suspicion was confirmed.  Angelo was cursing quite loudly at the chief, who was so red that Johnny thought he may actually erupt.  However, the echoing yell from Pappas had left the room silent except for the heart monitor.  A nurse poked her head in and very pointedly hissed that if either man remained this loud, they would both be kicked out for disturbing every patient on the floor – especially the one in the room.

 

With that, the chief seemed to deflate.  “Fine.  The footage shows he was held at gunpoint as they walked in.  I’ll take ‘em off.”  It was uncharacteristic for the man to give up so easily, and especially to Angelo.  The chief had a personal grudge against Pappas and Utah.  Perhaps Johnny’s injuries were serious enough to warrant some slight easing-up.  It wasn’t too unrealistic – Johnny felt as though someone had decided to try and make him road kill, or Swiss cheese.  

 

The chief turned to the bed where Johnny lay and leaned down to take the handcuff off of his left wrist.  When he bent down, his eyes traveled to where Johnny's were, and he finally noticed that the agent was awake.  The double-take was almost worth being shot twice in the chest, to be honest.  

 

Actually, Angelo’s reaction was priceless.  His jaw nearly touched the floor is dropped so hard.

 

“Oh- Johnny!  You’re finally awake,” Angelo exclaimed.  He glanced out the door, checking for the nurse, before stepping closer to the bed.  The chief busied himself with taking the cuff off of Johnny’s wrist, which bounced onto the bed when he was too weak to hold it up even that high.  “How do you feel, kid?  Wait- that’s a stupid question…”

 

Johnny cut him off.  “I feel like crap.”  He punctuated the sentence with a tiny cough.  His voice sounded as if someone had taken a piece of sandpaper to his throat and went to town.  

 

Angelo didn’t acknowledge the chief leaving the room, and instead grabbed the glass from the bedside table.  It was almost completely full of water to Johnny’s relief.  He wasn’t even that embarrassed that Angelo had to help him drink the water because he was too weak to hold the cup by himself.  The cool rush of water down his parched throat felt like heaven. 

 

“It really feels like the universe has a grudge against you, y’know that?”  Angelo muttered.  He set the glass down on the table again, careful not to spill the water.  He sat down heavily in the plush chair, leaning tiredly against the backrest.  “I didn’t enjoy walking into the bank with the other guys and seeing you on the floor in a puddle of your own blood.”  The confession was whispered into the quiet room, almost blending in with the soft beeping of the monitor and dripping of the IV.

 

“’M sorry,” Johnny slurred.  He was quickly becoming more and more tired, despite barely having carried half a conversation.  “I’ll try not to get shot nex’ time.”

 

“Good.”  Angelo stood slowly.  As Johnny’s eyes closed, the older man leaned over the bed.  The last thing Johnny saw before he fell asleep was Angelo pulling the hospital bed sheet up to his neck.


	3. Recuperating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recuperating from the chase, Johnny is in pain but above that, he is successful. Bodhi - a confirmed ex-President - is in custody with a non-fatal gunshot wound to his right leg. All that's left is getting back home with his screwed knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an AU that will probably hold up for the other stories: Johnny used his damn brain and shot Bodhi in the leg because he's an FBI agent, not a child with a gun and a grudge.

Johnny had nearly reached his car when Angelo tapped him on the shoulder.

 

“I just realized you can’t drive like that.”

 

“I’m fine,” Johnny sighed.  He wasn’t really, his entire body hurt, and driving would be really hard on his knee.  The joint was an aching, throbbing ball of tension and pain.  He hadn’t even jumped from that high a ledge, but the drop was still enough to have the injury flare up.  With every step he took, no matter how hard he limped, a sharp pain shot up his entire leg and fizzled out into his thigh and shin.  It wasn’t as bad as the day he actually got it, but it was close enough that even driving would hurt.

 

Angelo scoffed good-naturedly and took Johnny’s elbow.  It was easy to give in to the offer.  Johnny hadn’t run that hard since training, and his thoughts were scattered.  As Johnny collapsed into the passenger seat and buckled up, his muscles slowly unclenched.  The car started up, and Johnny’s eyes slipped closed.  He didn’t want to fall asleep, but he dozed lightly.  His house was far enough away that he had time to sort his thoughts.

 

Bodhi had been arrested after Johnny shot him in the leg.  It was a clean shot; the bullet went in his thigh and embedded itself into the wall opposite of him.  Back-up had arrived approximately three minutes after Johnny had successfully stopped Bodhi.  Angelo had been in a car with the others, and while Johnny had wanted to gloat loudly about the ex-President, he had instead been groaning loudly.  Involuntary tears had leaked out of the corner of his eyes from the sheer amount of pain.  It was so familiar and overpowering that he hadn’t been able to get a hold of it.  It was only until the paramedics were done with Bodhi that he had any relief.

 

The best part was the look on the Chief’s face as Angelo half-dragged and half-carried Johnny into the station – or, more accurately, the way his expression melted from absolute arrogance to disbelief, and finally grudging resignation.  All because Johnny held up the soot- and blood-covered Reagan mask.

 

Johnny felt the car stop.  Nothing happened for a few seconds except for the jingling of keys being taken out.  He peeled an eye open, feeling more tired than he thought he would be, and was met with Angelo’s gaze. 

 

“Wass’ goin’ on?”  Johnny asked quietly.  Angelo said nothing for another beat.

 

“Nothing.  Let’s get you into bed.”  He nearly leapt out of the car and appeared at the passenger door faster than Johnny thought possible.

 

The door opened, and Johnny took the opportunity to lighten the mood.  “Usually go to dinner first.”  It worked – the atmosphere went from an odd, stifling thoughtfulness to comfortably quiet.  They may not have been partners for long, but the dynamic was easy to mesh into.  Angelo’s many years of experience taught him patience and to go with the flow.  Johnny also tried not to hold grudges, and so the first day at the poolside had been completely forgotten in lieu of the pleasant respect he and Angelo held for each other.

 

That was the only reason why Johnny let Angelo loop an arm around his torso, and why he let his right side almost completely sag against the older man.  The walk to his front door was hazy and no matter how much he blinked, his house never shifted into focus.  Angelo adjusted his grip on Johnny and quietly asked for his keys.  It took him a solid second to register the request, but as soon as he did he was handing them over.

 

There was a bit of a blank spot between the threshold and his bed, but Johnny ended up on his rumpled sheets, so he didn’t mind.  He was determined to stay awake as long as possible in an attempt to seem a little less pathetic.  Peeling open his eyes was a herculean effort, and he was met with an empty room.  Maybe Angelo had already left.

 

His eyes were slipping closed again when partner stepped purposefully into the room with a tray.  On it was a glass of water, a banana, and a small pile of pills.  He grinned when he saw that Johnny was still awake.

 

“You’re a persistent one, Utah, but these ibuprofen pills will get you to fall asleep real quick.  Once they kick in you’ll be pain free.”

 

“Doctor,” Johnny called, “Can I get a better-looking nurse?”  It felt nice to slip back into bantering with his partner, even if his knee felt like someone had twisted it over and over and left it like that.  A muscle in his thigh spasmed and he winced before Angelo could say anything witty.

 

“Alright, sit up, and then you can take as long a nap as you want.”  Angelo came around the side of the bed to help Johnny sit up.  “Don’t start gettin’ the idea that I’m your nurse, kid, or your babysitter.  I’m just helpin’ you ‘cause it'll get you back on the field sooner.”

 

At this point, not even the pain in his knee could fully wake Johnny up.  It was very quickly becoming too hard to hold himself up.  The last of his strength was used to pop a couple of the pills in his mouth and swallow down the water. 

 

Laying back on the pillow, he closed his eyes, and murmured, “Thanks.”  Johnny was asleep before he could hear Angelo’s response.


	4. Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny has been posing as Jack Creel for two months. When he gets caught with Angelo, the gang he's been investigating decide to take matters into their own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 pages of what I love: whump.
> 
> Edit 1/3/19: I forgot this draft fucking existed I am so sorry!! I can't help but laugh though. Anyway, enjoy my tiny reader base.

Johnny woke up in a dark room with rope around his wrists, ankles, and waist.  His head throbbed incessantly as if there were a gong in his skull being struck over and over again.  The last thing he remembered had him scowling deeply, dread trickling down his spine.

 

He had been outside of a diner, smoking quietly, completely unaware of the men watching him.

 

* * *

 

  _“Are you sure you want to keep doin’ this, Johnny?”  Angelo was polishing off his fries slowly, unwilling to leave his younger partner alone at night._

_“Well, it’s not my cup of tea, lying to a bunch of dangerous people about who I am.  But it’s the only way we’ll get any info on these guys.”  Johnny had finished his burger a while ago, but he liked to humor Angelo, and so he ordered a milkshake despite having an almost-full soda.  The older man worried too much – it wasn’t exactly unreasonable, since Johnny got into situations very often, but was still a lot of concern for one person to hold._

_“I just can’t help but think about…”_

_“I know.”_

_Bodhi.  He had left a scar on both of their lives.  Johnny never saw Tyler again after she nearly shot him in his own bed.  Just thinking about those bat-shit crazy surfers left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he had no doubts that it was the same for Angelo.  He still surfed, oddly enough, because the rush was intoxicating.  But it would forever be tainted by the memory of the ex-Presidents._

_Johnny finished his milkshake just as the waitress came back with the check.  They sat in their usual booth in comfortable silence.  He hesitated to get up from his seat; something in the air gave him a bad feeling.  But he was a federal agent, and the investigation on these possible bank robbers couldn’t be put on hold just because he had a ‘bad feeling’._

_So instead, he sucked at a cigarette, watching Angelo’s car pull out.  He waved lazily, eyes darting back and forth in the darkness.  It was only when he turned to throw away the empty Styrofoam cup with soda and ash that he heard them._

_Three men, all of whom Johnny knew on a first-name basis, materialized from the shadows.  He only had time to widen his eyes in surprise before a crowbar connected solidly with his temple.  Suddenly, he was much better acquainted with the asphalt.  He saw very familiar sneakers, and then he saw nothing._

* * *

 

 “Really, guys,” Johnny drawled, his accent stronger than ever, “A crowbar?  You guys are better than garden-variety crooks.  Have some inspiration.”  His snark was met with a fist hitting his mouth so hard his lip split.  Blood gushed from his mouth and down his shirt, staining his softest one.  “That was my third-favorite shirt.”

 

A hand gripped Johnny’s hair and pulled viciously.  “Shut the hell up, or you’re gonna be hurtin’ more than necessary, _Utah_.”  His last name was spit so venomously, he had to wonder if the man behind him was about to start hissing. 

 

“Nice to see you, Donnie.”  Johnny grinned, despite his split lip, craning his head back to look at the man.  He was in deep trouble if these neanderthal dumbasses had him in their basement, completely vulnerable to their every whim.  Johnny knew they were angry, furious with his lies. 

 

Johnny had been posing as Jack Creel for two months.  It wasn’t a full-time undercover job; he was just putting up a character so that he could get in with the crowd.  It was like a year ago when he put up the front with Tyler and Bodhi to get information about surfers.  This time, he was trying to get closer to the underground society to get information about a notorious gang.  They were discreet, not arrogant or noticeable enough warrant the attention of the authorities until recently.  He and Angelo didn’t have any solid evidence on them, only hunches to work on.  So he took up the persona of a down-on-his-luck man who wanted to write a book but he didn’t have much money, so he had to work menial jobs to keep himself afloat.  But apparently, they had figured out who he really was and decided to take action.

 

So now Johnny could only hope that his disappearance would be discovered as soon as possible, or better yet that he could escape on his own before they did any permanent damage.

 

There was a single bulb above him which flickered every few seconds.  The floor was a bleak grey, and it was so dark beyond the small circle of light that Johnny couldn’t see the walls. 

 

A door opened about 10 feet in front of him.  The bright light nearly blinded him but he knew it was essential to get as much out of these people as possible, even if it was just simple observations or descriptions. 

 

The light was blocked by a figure and the door was closed promptly.  Heels clacked against the ground, getting closer to Johnny.  The figure stepped into the light, revealing a woman with dark eyes and a serious face.  Her long and dark brown hair was worn in a braid, and she had piercings on her ears and two on her left brow. 

 

The hard-set line of her mouth broke into an unsettling smile.  “Johnny Utah, federal agent under the bank robbery division.  You were the quarterback for Ohio.  It’s lovely to meet you.”  Her voice was rich but freezing cold, each word spoken deliberately.  She reached out with her hand, fingers clamping down on his jaw, nails digging into his cheek.  “You’ve fucked up bad, Johnny.  By the time my boys are done with you, you’ll be begging for death.”

 

With that, she stepped back into the darkness and disappeared into the other room before Johnny could get a word in.  Unfortunately, that was the signal for Donnie and two other men he recognized to start.  He was untied from the chair, but the other two men – Ethan and Slade – held his arms above his head.  Johnny was dazed from the hit to his head, and so he could barely hold himself up. 

 

It seemed that they had no problem fixing that because Donnie was looping a chain around his wrists.  Somewhere outside his field of vision, the man maneuvered the chain so that when he pulled, it tugged on Johnny’s wrist.  He could do nothing as the chain was pulled taut and then farther so that the tips of his toes barely grazed the floor.  The position strained the muscles in his shoulders, but more than that, it made it clear what was about to happen.

 

“Fellas,” Johnny tried, “This isn’t necessary.  Seriously.”

 

Slade stepped into the circle with a grim smile on his face.

 

“I'm an FBI agent.  If you do this, and they find you...”

 

It became apparent that they didn’t care. 

 

It began with only fists – Slade was the first one to have the pleasure of using Johnny as a punching bag.  He had no restraint; the man didn’t need to worry about defending himself at all, so he was obviously having fun with it.  It hurt more and more as he went, knuckles coming down with punishing force on ruptured blood vessels, developing bruises.  His stomach hurt from the punches and the strain of desperately clenching the muscles in a last-ditch effort to protect his organs.  Johnny’s whole upper body was battered, and by the time Slade was sweating, he felt like one big bruise.  His face probably looked like it had been through a blender.  Both eyes were undoubtedly going to be dark purple soon and his lip was split in two different places now.  Blood ran down his brow from the nick in his skin. 

 

The already dark room was blurry from the sheer amount of blows dealt by Slade.  He knew it wasn’t going to end anytime soon, but he was grateful that he at least had a few minutes to collect himself as Donnie rummaged around a table.  Johnny didn’t want to acknowledge the instruments that lay on the table, but if he was going to get hurt no matter what, he would get every damn detail, too. 

 

There was a saw with a serrated blade, a bat, a crowbar, a hammer, and a collection of knives.  Alongside the plainer tools sat a hook, screws, a belt, a branding rod, a pair of pliers, and under the table was a hose.

 

Donnie went for the hose.  He grinned, too, like Slade, before turning the water up all the way.  It hit Johnny’s skin like thousands of tiny needles, ice-cold at first but quickly becoming hotter.  The stream soaked his shirt before finding its way to his face. 

 

He spluttered and coughed as hard as he could, trying to turn his head away from the steaming hot water.  It felt as though he were drowning on dry land.  He didn’t know when it would end, or even if it would.  Panic rose in his chest when he couldn’t get a breath in and he almost screamed as the water approached boiling temperatures.  It was only when his mouth opened in a yell to stop and water went directly down his throat that Donnie thought to give him a second to breathe.

 

The hose shut off, and Johnny’s head hung down between his bound arms.  A rush of water splashed down onto his drenched shirt, twin streams trickled from his nose, the sinuses burning so much his eyes watered and overflowed.  He desperately hoped that Angelo was out there looking for him, but the pounding in his head barred him from any thoughts further than that.  His instincts were taking over, his body was focusing on the continued signals that something was very wrong. 

 

Johnny was still hanging limply from the chain when someone slapped his face roughly.  His head snapped up, and the world tilted precariously to the side.  Pain throbbed through almost every part of his body.  His legs were numb and his arms were filled with the tingling of poor circulation.  But they weren’t done with him yet.

 

It was Ethan’s turn.  The blond decided he was better off without his leather jacket for once and so he shucked it off.  He approached the table with a mockingly thoughtful expression on his face.

 

“I know,” Ethan said lowly, “Exactly what to do.”  He grabbed a wickedly sharp dagger with glee.

 

Johnny’s eyes glued themselves to the blade as it glinted in the low light.  His mind was acutely, horrifically aware of what was about to happen.  It was hard to brace himself tremendous pain and the fact that he's about to get permanently scarred doesn't help matters.

 

“Get it off.”  Ethan adjusted his grip on the dagger as Slade grabbed Johnny’s shirt with both hands and pulled, ripping the soft grey material with ease. 

 

Johnny made one last attempt to stop him.  “Get the _fuck_  away from me you son of a bitch.”  His voice was weak and the words just tumbled out of his mouth – he was too dazed and in pain to make a real argument.  

 

Even if he had the strength or the awareness to speak coherently, nothing would have stopped Ethan. 

 

Ethan circled around; Johnny’s heart began to beat harder against his chest and his pulse roared in his ears.  _Don’t concentrate on it_ , Johnny told himself, _Pain is a signal that something is wrong, accept the signal and focus on the details._

 

Solving the case and getting it over with was the highest priority.  That meant that he couldn’t be incapacitated, even by unrestrained torture.  These men weren’t ordered to get any information from him, they already knew everything.  Their goal wasn’t to make him squeal – it was to inflict as much pain as possible.  It probably meant that they would kill him, perhaps leave him to bleed out or freeze, maybe starve in this basement.  Or they would let him go and escape while he was in the hospital.  But that was unreasonable since Johnny had already seen their faces and gotten a feel for the dynamics.  They would leave him for dead and escape at best.

 

But for now, they were content to make him scream.

 

The dagger touched down high on Johnny’s left shoulder blade, almost exactly over a knot he had.  His breathing picked up, adrenaline rushing through his system, muscles bunching in preparation for what was about to come.  He felt the cold tip graze him before it plunged in.  Johnny clenched his teeth together to keep a groan from escaping, but he couldn’t hold back the yell that was ripped from him when the blade moved.  Ethan's movements were jerky as the knife sliced through his skin.  Hot blood rushed down his back and the blade made a semi-circle that reached the end of his shoulder blade. 

 

Ethan lifted the knife, setting the tip somewhere in the middle of his shoulder blade, probably at the end of the semi-circle.  He dragged it down slowly to make another semi-circle, pulling another scream from Johnny. 

 

He was exhausted and quite possibly going into shock one letter in.  Johnny knew what Ethan was carving into his sweat-soaked and trembling back.  He knew from the look in Ethan’s eyes when he picked up the knife. 

 

Johnny’s throat felt like it was shredded by the unbridled screams he could no longer hold back as the knife traveled across his upper back, sinking into his body and leaving ragged lines.  He lost track of time as his whole world zeroed into the physical sensations: pure, white-hot pain making the tips of his fingers tingle.  His efforts to stay coherent or concentrate on his observations were dashed halfway through the second letter.  He was unable to keep his eyes open when Ethan started on the third, and he was wishing for sleep, or anything but the invasive pain, by the fourth letter. 

 

Ethan’s voice was distorted when he said, “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

 

It hurts.  Johnny couldn’t process much farther than that – _it hurts_.  His back felt raw, as though the nerves were exposed and every little brush of air against it sent signals across his synapses.  There was more speaking around him, and he was about to give in to an overwhelming need to sleep when the warbled voices suddenly got much louder.

 

A door opened and slammed shut somewhere in the building.  There was more shouting from outside the room and somewhere above Johnny, there were the sounds of chaos.  Footsteps pounding on the floor above, gunshots, and what had to be doors being busted open.  They were all sounds of a police raid.  Johnny was completely limp at this point.  He was dangling from the roof like some sort of butcher’s prize and bleeding like one, too.  It was starting to get colder and he couldn’t hold his head up anymore.  He was barely half-conscious when the door slammed open again, light flooding in.

 

Someone yelled his name, his real name, and it sounded remarkably like Angelo.  Hands landed on his neck and cheek, oddly gentle compared to the brutal force inflicted by Slade.  The chain holding Johnny up loosened, and the blood loss made him too weak to hold his arms up.  The cuts on his back were pulled.  Johnny gave a half-hearted, strangled scream.

 

“Shh, Johnny, you’re fine, it’s all right.  It’s me, it’s Angelo.  I’m gonna get you out of here and you’ll be patched up, you’ll be just fine.”  Angelo rambled on and on, anger barely contained it was obvious even to Johnny in his current state. 

 

Johnny sagged against his partner and tried to hold back groans as every movement he made pulled the skin on his back.  He was waiting for Angelo’s reaction because he knew when the man saw what they wrote he’d want to go back upstairs and finish the job.

 

“What the hell did they...what...”  Angelo trailed off.  When he spoke again, his voice betrayed fury so dark he sounded capable of murder.  “I’m gonna kill every damn one of them.”  Thankfully, seemed to decide that exacting revenge upon the gang like an avenging angel wasn't his immediate priority.  

 

No one could really fault him for it.  Ethan had chosen a vile thing to leave on Johnny’s body.  Carved into his skin with a high chance of scarring was one word: _SNITCH_.   If the word remains on Johnny's back, it'll be incredibly dangerous to go on undercover missions.

 

Relief replaced the adrenaline in Johnny’s system.  His eyes were closed again – he couldn’t remember when that happened.  He was colder than he’s ever been, but Angelo was holding him close enough to stave off the shivering.  The pain was ebbing along with Johnny’s energy.  The older man shook him lightly, just enough to convey the urgency, but not enough to jostle his wounds.

 

“Stay with me, okay?  You have to stay awake until the paramedics can help you—“

 

But Johnny was already gone.

 

* * *

 

Angelo sat by his younger partner’s bedside, eyes scanning over a book he wasn’t really reading.  It had been 18 hours since Johnny had been taken and 10 hours since they got to the hospital.  The Guts only had 8 hours with the man and they had done enough damage to have him in the ICU, and according to a confession Johnny hadn’t even been awake for most of it.  What had really done the worst to him was the shock and blood loss.  He had three fractured ribs, two broken ones, and a parade of bruises all over his upper body.  Both eyes were a dark purple and the swelling on his lower lip had just gone down.  He would be out of the field for some time while his ribs healed and his body bounced back from the blood he lost.

 

Now, Angelo was just waiting for him to wake up.  The doctor had said it wouldn’t be too long, that he would be a bit dazed from the anesthesia but that there was no permanent damage.  What could have been the best news Angelo had ever received was that the cuts on his back probably wouldn’t scar.  Even though Johnny would forever have another stain in his memories, he wouldn’t have the physical reminder.

 

He waited, but Johnny didn’t move.

 

* * *

 

 It was infected.  The knife used to cut Johnny had been covered in all sorts of unsavory bacteria and despite the doctors cleaning out the wounds, his body had been left weak because of the unchecked blood loss.  The infection wasn’t too bad since Johnny was in a hospital where nurses check his vitals every fifteen minutes.  This was the safest place he could be. 

 

And yet, it was hard to watch the man toss and turn in his sleep, to watch as the nurses’ expressions darken when they saw his fever hasn’t gone down as quickly as they’d hoped.  But Johnny wasn’t too bad off – the nurses and doctors called him the ‘pretty-boy’.  In Angelo’s opinion, his partner had a baby-face, but according to the staff he wasn’t too hard on the eyes.  He wasn’t quite being doted on, but Johnny would definitely have a nice time recuperating among all the young and interested men and women.

 

A nurse walked into the room with a brisk, professional expression on her face.  Angelo had a good feeling about her; she seemed like she knew what she was doing, even if she was just taking Johnny’s temperature.  The lines on her face – ones that Angelo has come to realize are a signature of nurses – ease up when she checks the device and is apparently pleased with what she sees.

 

“How’s he lookin’, Yubi?”  Angelo doesn’t need to read her nametag; she introduced herself the first time she came in to check the dosage of the antibiotics.

 

She smiled and said, “Well, Mr. Pappas, his temperature is stabilizing.  It means the worst is over.”

 

Angelo’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in roughly 24 hours.  They’d been tense since a doctor came in and told him Johnny wasn’t quite out of the woods.  “Please,” he said, “Call me, Angelo.  This isn’t the first time this hospital has taken care of Johnny, and I have a feeling it won’t be the last.”

 

* * *

 

 Johnny woke up with absolutely no pain anywhere in his body.  He didn’t even have a headache.  The last thing he remembered was quite the opposite – limp in his partner’s arms in a cold basement with an agony blazing across his back and ribs.  Now, he was lying on a soft mattress, feeling warm but not overheated.  The sheets on his body were neatly folded up to his chest, arms at his sides, and an IV in one of his elbows.  It took some effort, but he was able to open his eyes. 

 

“There he is,” Angelo grinned.  The older man was sitting in a chair with a book in his hands and an expression of relief on his face.  “It took you a while.”

 

When Johnny opened his mouth to respond, he couldn’t help but choke a little.  His throat felt so dry he thought he might cough up sand if he tried.  Angelo busied himself with grabbing a cup of water and calling a nurse into the room.  Soon enough, Johnny was sitting back against fluffed pillows, a small plastic cup cradled in his hands which sat in his lap.

 

Nothing hurt, but he felt weak and tired, even though the only thing he’s done since waking up 10 minutes ago was sit up and answer some questions.  Apparently, he had lost a lot of blood from the sheer surface area of the…cuts left by Ethan.

 

“Are they, uh,” Johnny trailed off for a second.  He had to know, but if the answer wasn’t what he wanted, it may not be worth asking.  He steeled himself.  “Are they going to scar?”

 

It seemed that the doctor who had been taking care of him, Dr. Everman, took great pleasure from saying, “No, Mr. Utah, you got to us in time.  With proper care, there will be no trace of the wounds.”

 

Johnny sagged further against the pillows.  It was getting harder to stay awake and follow the conversation, and with the good news, the last of his worries evaporated.  He was out of the basement and Angelo was sipping a coffee right beside him.  The IV in his arm wasn’t helping matters; he was free of every ache and pain.  The bed was too comfortable under him.  Despite his best efforts, he was falling asleep.

 

“Sleep, kid, you need it,” Angelo smirked at him from the chair.

 

Johnny was falling deeper into sleep every second, but he had enough energy for one last retort.  “Shut it, old man.”


End file.
